


Espressivo

by FallacyFallacy



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallacyFallacy/pseuds/FallacyFallacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk has discovered that Spock is ticklish. What he hasn't quite stumbled upon yet is precisely how much Spock enjoys it. Spock is Not Happy. Written for Kink_Bingo for 'tickling'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Espressivo

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Spicatto](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/2477) by Igrab. 



Maybe to others it would seem strange how seamlessly the various aspects of Kirk and Spock's relationship smoothed together, definite lines giving way at the slightest nudge. When they were on the bridge, Kirk was the Captain, and Spock his second-in-command, and while Spock, being a good First Officer, didn't always necessary obey every command (or at least not without stern advice), it was implicitly understood that the power there almost fully lay with Kirk. He gave orders, Spock listened, gave his own suggestions and opinions and known facts, and did whatever Kirk requested. And it worked. Kirk knew that some other couples had trouble with workplace romances, particularly when there was a power discrepancy within that working relationship, but thankfully both men were professional enough that it didn't seem to affect them at all. In fact, Kirk was pretty sure no-one of his crew had more than a vague suspicion that they were anything more than friends. And maybe that had something to do with the fact that Kirk had no idea what exactly they were other than more than friends, and was pretty sure Spock didn't, either, but otherwise it didn't matter.

  
And then, at other times – in the rec rooms, in the hallways, on shore leaves, in their quarters – they were friends. More than that, they were equals, valuing each other's insights and views and thoughts more than any other's. There was a degree of trust there rivalling that which they shared on the bridge, perhaps even surpassing it. They exchanged glances, and surprisingly meaningful ones – or, at least, compared to the degree to which Kirk had been able to discern Spock's expressions initially. They talked, about ship's business, about other crewmembers, about other things of no importance. They played chess. They shared a closeness that Kirk hadn't felt with anyone since Bones (albeit in almost comedically different ways) and yet it had never felt anything other than normal. And this worked, too, even though they were different species and from different backgrounds. Beyond the surface, they had quite a lot in common, and what they didn't provided a nice contrast – a challenge, even.

 

And, finally, the most recent of all to develop but one that was becoming increasingly common: in the bedroom, or sometimes just in their quarters, they were lovers. Kirk really wasn't sure how it had started – he hadn't felt some kind of overwhelming lust for Spock like he had had for every other girl or guy he had slept with that had overtaken him in passion, unable to control himself as he ripped their clothes apart, mashing their bodies together. It had been a little awkward, really, but in a nice way; Kirk had known that the awkwardness wouldn't last and wouldn't really matter and that if he pressed a bit too hard or didn't go hard enough he wouldn't have to worry about Spock walking out and never returning again. It had just sort of... _happened_ as though, like their friendship, this too was simply the natural cause of events, their natural progression. But it was more than just sex – there was a supreme closeness that Kirk couldn't entirely attribute to friendship, of connection and openness and honesty and downright affection that Kirk thinks he might like most of all. Just being able to lie this way, his head resting against Spock's chest, an absent hand trapped not uncomfortably beneath his torso, another holding up a Padd he was only half paying attention, was somehow lesser and greater and stranger and more normal than any of their sex, and Kirk knew that if both stopped he would miss this just as much. And this all worked – bizarrely, this odd little niche that they had found themselves in fitted them both perfectly, almost without argument or event.

 

 _Almost,_ anyway. Yeah, there were still times when Spock was a little stiff (and not in the good way) and reluctant to try things the Human way. And sometimes, Kirk admitted in the back of his mind, he, too, could be a little demanding that of Spock, even when it made the Vulcan uncomfortable. And if Kirk was always convinced that Spock would be happier for it all, well, that didn't always justify it. Even if he really believed it. Which he always did, of course.

 

Overall, though, he and Spock were ridiculously functional, putting to shame all his rare worries about whether he had accidentally gotten himself into a _relationship_ , and how on earth he could expect that to turn out well for himself. When he was with Spock like this, he didn't need to worry about these sorts of things, he could just mellow out and be lazy and silly and maybe a little unmanly, but that didn't matter, because no-one would ever see any of it or know about except Spock, who was too busy being unmanly on his own. It didn't matter that Spock didn't really care about being unmanly like Kirk did, it still counted. Besides, he had his own worries about being unVulcan that Kirk also knew perfectly well he failed on a daily basis, so that was mollifying at least.

 

Yes, Kirk had it bad. And he was loving every minute of it.

 

*

 

“...this position is most illogical.”

 

“That's what she said!” Spock could feel Kirk grinning against his stomach, but could have guessed that reaction even if he couldn't.

 

“As is that phrase, as I am quite certain that you know of no females who would use the word 'illogical' in such a sense,” Spock replied dryly, attempting to mask his own amusement. Judging by Kirk's snort, he hadn't done it well. Unfortunately, such things were becoming distressingly common. Even more unfortunately, he wasn't even sure he minded anymore.

 

“Well, I'm sure some Vulcan girl has said it at one point in history, anyway. So there.”

 

“Unlikely. Vulcan mating rituals do not generally involve such Human concepts as 'positions'.”

 

“Wait, how does that make sense?” Kirk shifted against him, digging his skull further in. Spock successfully restrained a shudder. “Even if you don't think about it, I'm pretty sure it's impossible to have sex without a position.”

 

“The question was not whether or not Vulcans make use of sexual positions, merely whether or not they were aware of choosing them so. As you have just explicitly admitted that this is, indeed, possible, I accept my victory.”

 

“Show-off,” Kirk muttered affectionately, jabbing a thumb into Spock's side.

 

Before he could stop himself – before he could tense, or knock Kirk's hand away, or shy away, Spock squeaked.

 

He _squeaked._

 

 _Aloud._

 

There was a pregnant pause, and Spock's eyes went wide. This was worrying. This was – more than worrying, this was making him _most concerned_. Days ago, completely accidentally, Kirk had stumbled upon a great shame of Spock's – he was ticklish. From the delight with which Kirk had reacted Spock could only assume that this did not have the same implications on Earth as it did among Vulcans, because a fellow Vulcan would most certainly not have responded that way. With discomfort, maybe, and misplaced shame, and a little pity. It was such an undignified thing, to descend into giggles and laughter due to misplaced touches. To be unable to control yourself. To express a happiness and amusement you felt was bad enough, but to let out one you didn't as a purely physical response was utterly humiliating.

 

He knew Kirk didn't think like that – Jim had drawn out many more intimate, personal physical reactions than that. But somehow that was different – that was expected. It was necessary for the communication of physical love. This had no practical purpose. It was an annoyance, an aberration, and was not even remotely funny.

 

So, naturally, Kirk dug his thumb in again.

 

This time, Spock clamped his mouth shut, his chest spasming with the controlled jolt of laughter. He breathed in deeply, eyes already glassy, and blinked.

 

“That's right...” Kirk murmured quietly, and Spock was horrified to notice an element – no, substantial degree – of amusement in his voice.

 

“No,” Spock said quickly, immediately berating himself for the hoarseness of his voice. But Jim, as always, refused to listen, pressing firmly into Spock's skin through his shirt, rolling his thumb. Spock shuddered, his spine contracting as he gasped, catching himself at the very last moment from any verbal encouragement. Swallowing thickly as the rumbles flowed through his torso, Spock opened his mouth again - “Please desist.”

 

“Hmmm...” Kirk murmured, beginning to push back Spock's shirt, running his fingertips lightly across the smooth skin of Spock's stomach as he did so and setting Spock's hair on end. He was shivering, goosebumps arising, his fist gripping tightly at his sheet, but still he did not giggle. “...I don't think so.”

 

“Don't-” Spock attempted, but then Kirk made a gesture that could only be described as a caress, running each finger separately over Spock's sensitive skin, and his eyes watered, and emotion bubbled through him, and his throat ached, the vibrations pushing forward by his swallows throughout his body, rippling out from where Kirk touched him so gently, so softly, and Spock clapped a hand to his mouth, gasping out, “P-please, d-don't-”

 

“Heh.” And oh god, that was making it even worse, he could feel Kirk's breath lightly against his skin, teasing him, and he almost groaned, almost, biting his lip and knuckle and tensing his entire body, shaking all over. “You've almost lost it, already.”

 

And then Kirk was upon him, his fingers digging in and pressing and rubbing and scratching ever so slightly with his blunt fingernails and tracing small circles, and Spock couldn't help it, he curved his back, leaning his head back in submission, partly to Kirk and partly to these feelings, these awful, electric feelings like small bugs under his skin, making him hysterical, contorting his mouth, and he just wanted to laugh and giggle and groan but he forced himself, clinging to his last vestiges of dignity. His legs quivered, shaking, dying to shake and thrash about as Spock dug his heels down into the mattress. His breathing became impossibly laboured, all of the energy, the tension from this awful giggling expelled in long puffs from his deliberately slack mouth, his teeth beginning to cut through skin.

 

He was being tickled. And not just on his stomach – now he could feel Kirk everywhere, on either side of his thighs, against his chest, by his sides, his breath at Spock's cheek, inhaling and expelling those laughs. He was overwhelmed, overcome entirely, his mind screaming, everything black behind his eyelids. It was so horrible, the shame dancing almost as strongly beneath his skin, in the heavy pounding of his heart, but every time he attempted to clear his throat, to push out the breath necessary for speech, all he could manage was a minuscule whine that he instantly clamped shut. It was awful. And so sudden! Mere moments before he had been as Vulcan and Spock-like and calm as ever, attention balanced between the man on his stomach and the padd in his hand. In so little time – in just a few movements of Jim's hands – could he be so easily undone?

 

“Geez, would you just stop that?” Jim growled as he flittered his hand under Spock's chin. “I'm just tickling you, not torturing you for information. You can laugh, you know!”

 

Spock shook his head. He couldn't explain it to Jim – he wouldn't understand. This was a simple, childish action, and while it may be acceptable to act this way on Earth for a full-grown Vulcan to be enjoying, even luxuriating, in such infantile behaviours was highly improper. Very few Vulcans were ticklish at all, and the idea had always repulsed Spock slightly. How horrible an idea that his physical body could so betray him!

 

And yet, somehow, he did not wish to stop. At any point so far he could have made his unhappiness clear and voiced his misgivings. If he felt it necessary, he could even have physically pushed Jim away – he was more than capable of it. But his lack of action could not only be attributed to his fear of what would come out of his mouth if he opened it at this point. No, impossibly enough, the tickling felt... It was almost.

 

Spock gasped, silently.

 

It got worse. Somehow, his discomfort not complete in the knowledge that he was writing and gasping beneath Kirk's tickles, he became suddenly and impossibly aware that he was horribly, achingly hard.

 

Heat swept through him like another tsunami, between and alongside every other wave of emotion rumbling like thunder and crackling like lightning within him, and he felt his cheeks flush deep green, eyes clenched tight enough for tears to seep out. This, truly, was the worst – not only was he experiencing this ultimate disgrace in the revelation of strong emotions and feelings not his own brought on only by simplistic physical actions, he was enjoying it, and far more than he could ever remember. He had never been this hard before, never felt this hot, never been so sensorally, sensually aware of every touch – of Kirk's calloused, soft fingertips, of his shirt riding up around his suddenly pebble-like nipples, of the pain at his wrist at once hurtful and yet not distractingly so enough, of the softness of the sheets as he contorted and pressed and rubbed so shamelessly against them, of Kirk's knees clenched around his thighs, of the impossible-to-ignore tightness of his trousers, clinging to his erection, each minor shift in position brought on by every further slight tingle of Kirk's fingers causing the material to move fluidly around him even more, tickling against his skin, and he almost laughed at that thought, almost let it all out, and the pain increased, and his throat was throbbing almost as badly as his dick, his jaw clenching and grinding.

 

He couldn't find out. He was hysterical, he couldn't think clearly, the laughter and the giggles and the heat and the discomfort and the shame, and oh god he was sticky, he had never felt so uncomfortable, but Jim couldn't know. He couldn't think, his mind rebelled, screaming at him, an almost physical pain threatening him to just let go, to just lose it, but he clung to that one sentence – he can't know, he can't know, he's kneeling on top of me, he can't know, it'll go away...

 

He was goddamn _hard_. And at that thought, he could feel his penis twitch, feel the sweat soak the front of his trousers. He was _still hard_.

 

And Kirk's fingers were still working, so close to his groin, to his utter shame, and his chest felt so full, his heartbeat so absurdly, unbelievably rapid, and his shudders increased, because it was just becoming worse and worse – to feel such sickeningly pleasurable sensations, to feel himself so close to admitting it all aloud, and to feel like he was seconds away from coming despite it – his stomach roiled, turning over and over, and he almost felt nauseous, the heat emanating from his stomach was too much, he was shaking too much, he was just as desperate to let it out, to just open his mouth and –

 

And then Kirk shifted, slightly, changing his position so that he was resting on top of Spock's hips, and Spock tasted blood.

 

For one glorious, wonderful, awe-inspiring moment, Kirk stopped. Spock shook, his trembling increasingly violent, and he reached out blindly, grasping against Kirk's shoulder strong enough to bruise, his nails digging in, and just held, neither pushing nor pulling, struggling through his laboured breathing to let out one long, slow breath.

 

He was lost. He was so utterly, totally lost, his thoughts whirling too fast even for himself to make sense of them, totally overcome, his only connection to reality, his only anchor stopping him from collapsing entirely, sinking into the ground and shooting off into the stars, was the hand at his mouth. It clutched at him, his nails digging into his own skin as tightly and as sharply as he dug into Kirk's. He couldn't speak. He almost wanted to at this stage, to just give in, it would be such a relief, but he was too far gone now to be rational, and all he could think was _don't speak don't laugh don't groan don't do anything_ -

 

The moment passed with a slowness unlike any Spock had ever experienced, and he sniffed, and he swallowed, and he almost, almost considered pushing Kirk away. He knew that he was strong enough. But he was too far gone now, too close, too over the line now that anything else Kirk could do would be nothing but torture of the worst kind. He could still feel him there, skin icy cold against Spock's overheated, overstimulated skin, and suddenly Spock realized something, something wonderful and horrible and so in fitting with this entire fucked-up experience.

 

Kirk was hard, too.

 

If he hadn't been Vulcan – and wasn't that laughable, to think 'if I weren't Vulcan' in the midst of such an enormously Human experience – he wouldn't have heard it. Even then, tone was impossible to discern. A quiet, almost inaudible, “wow.”

 

Without another second – another millisecond, or further, there were more, smaller measurements, but that didn't matter, and the whole thing had only taken him a second to understand, anyway – Spock pulled.

 

Stars exploded behind Spock's vision as Kirk rocked against him, and his fingers began again, and Spock _was_ writhing, filled with regret and gratefulness because surely this was worse, this torture, this sensuous excess that he was gorging himself on like some luxurious, fattening feast was so much worse, such greater torture, and he hadn't even known he could react like this, that he had all these nerve endings, surely there couldn't be this many, exploding like a display of fireworks all over his body, crackling like flames tonguing and licking at his bare flesh. He was burning, he was freezing, his entire body tensed so stiff he was aching already, unconsciously thrusting and rolling his hips in turn, his entire body, leaning in to Kirk's every touch, exposing himself to it all, and yet even then, even as he revealed every such shameful, personal, private, intimate moment, every response, every twitch, flinch, tremble, he still did not speak. His teeth ground to the point of pain, his face contorted, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, against the back of his mouth, held between his back teeth, anything as long as he did not speak.

 

Throughout this entire unforgettable sequence, it was the one thing over which Spock still had control.

 

It built up, further and unbelievably further, until he was begging mentally, begging for it to be over, for it to reach this peak, because it couldn't possibly get worse, get stronger, get more in control of Spock's each and every action, until finally he reached it, and he was so happy his eyes watered, so absolutely filled with complete and utter euphoria, the heat in his stomach and his cock sizzling outwards, so utterly taken, so utterly overcome, so utterly at the mercy of Kirk's fingertips and erection that he came, harder than he had ever before, harder than he would have believed possible, then and there in his pants. And it didn't stop, even then, pressing himself as deeply as able into the bed, pushing himself back, needing stability, needing something, utterly, totally breathless, feeling the spasms throughout his entire body from the tips of his toes to end ends of his hair.

 

He came so hard, and yet still so utterly silently, that when it finally ended the relief was so extreme, the lack of tension in his limbs leaving him so weightless and boneless and relaxed, that he veritably collapsed against the bed, blacking out entirely, finally submitting to that blissful, euphoric blackness.

 

At some point, he became aware of his body again. Even more so, he became aware of another body beside his, arm curled over his torso, nose pressed against his cheek.

 

“Are you awake?” came Kirk's voice. After a few seconds he recognized the words, and after a few more the tone, of supreme relaxation and affection and – amusement.

 

Spock breathed, coughing slightly, clearing his throat. He felt strange, and slightly uncomfortable – his shirt pushed up, every muscle in his body aching, and a rather unpleasant wetness in his trousers. He attempted to open his eyes, rubbing at them with his fist a moment later when he realized they were caked with dried tears. After some experimental flickering, he opened them, and turned his head to the side to see Jim.

 

Jim, looking every bit as relaxed and sleepy and ruffled and debauched as his voice had implied – and, Spock realized, as he himself must look like, if he wasn't worse. And, of course, that same amused affection in his expression, in the softness of his eyes, and the upturn of the corners of his lips. Humans were so expressive that sometimes the subtleties of their emotions could become lost in the bluntness of the more obvious elements, but here Kirk's openness was total, both the plainly apparent feelings of contentment and tiredness and the more subtextual implications of what Spock realized was love.

 

“If I'd known you'd react like that I would have gone further last time, too,” Jim joked, raising the hand on his chest to touch Spock's cheek.

 

Spock frowned. “Please do not do that again.” His voice sounded squeaky and high-pitched after such strain earlier, and he had to cough.

 

“There is absolutely nothing you could say to make me do to agree with that,” Kirk said dryly. “You came in your _pants_. And you almost did so before I'd even _reached_ down there.”

 

Spock shifted, his discomfort increasing, and glanced away.

 

“Don't be like that.” Kirk straightened up a little, leaning over Spock on his elbow. “That was – amazing. Just watching you like that. Beat anything I could have come up with.” When Spock continued to refuse to reply, he tried a different tack. “Not like it's weird or anything. Hell, just plain vanilla sex has been stranger than that, depending on species. Everyone has something like that. You're just lucky we've got one we can both connect with.”

 

“I would prefer not to discuss it.”

 

Kirk sighed. “It's...we're going to have to, eventually.” Kirk paused. “Well, as long as we can keep doing it, I don't really mind.”

 

Spock hesitated, torn. On the one hand, that had been one of the worst experiences he had ever gone through, feelings of shame and discomfort and powerlessness completely overwhelming. But on the other hand, in so many ways it had been his greatest one, more powerful than anything he had felt before, in an indescribably wonderful way.

 

Before he had met Jim, Spock probably would have declined. But somehow, lying here with him now, Jim's hand still against his cheek, Spock found himself nodding.

 

“...but, for now we have much work to do,” he said abruptly, sitting up and trying not to sway at the dizziness he felt suddenly.

 

Kirk groaned, and Spock, just a little, smiled.


End file.
